An Outside Perspective
by Genevievey
Summary: A slightly abstract look at just how much Peter & Assumpta deserve a happy life together, and a brief snapshot of that happiness.


_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't really know how to explain this. Basically, I was reading about Ballyk, and several people expressed the opinion that, if Peter & Assumpta ever got together, the show would be over (which it was, for many of us). This is my response to that way of thinking. It's a little bit abstract, but I think you should be able to identify with the characters...and if you don't like the first bit, there's a straight Peter&Assumpta scene at the end!  
I hope you enjoy this; I had fun with it anyway._

_Oh, and a general plea; is there an antidote to Ballyk? Because I'm helpless in the throes of it's addictiveness... ;-)_

_I do not own these characters, or "Ballykissangel". Please read & review!  
_

**  
An Outside Perspective**

There's no roof on Ireland, and at present those forty shades of green were being replenished by another downpour. But above the clouds, there's no rain, and some have a different view.

From his usual spot outside the Pearly Gates, the Archangel Gabriel yawned, tapping his foot. Sure it was beautiful up here, but there is limited variety when scenery is composed of clouds, so naturally the heavenly sought harmless forms of entertainment. Gazing about, the Archangel caught sight of one subordinate angel hovering over Ireland; having neglected the sunbeam she should have been polishing, the angel was staring intently down to the country below. Out of curiosity, Gabriel abandoned his post, and floated over to join the delinquent angel.

"Ho there! What art thou…up to?"  
The younger angel was startled, and hurriedly resumed polishing a sunbeam, rambling, "Oh, well err…", revealing her Irish accent._  
Well, that explains a lot,_ the Archangel sighed to himself.  
"Passing your time spying on the mortal realm, are we? I don't suppose there's anything of much interest happening…"

The angel relaxed, and pointed down through the clouds.  
"To be sure, there is; down there in Wicklow, Ireland. There's a quaint wee village called Ballykissangel—beautiful spot—and the folks there are an eclectic bunch, endlessly fascinating. I just glanced down one day, but now I keep coming back to watch, see how events transpire. Makes great viewing."  
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, attempting to maintain his superior status. "Well, we all have our own tastes in entertainment. Personally I prefer Keats..."  
"Ah but this is real life, the likes of what Keats wrote about," protested the Irish angel, "you can't have poetry without life and love—anyway, I'm more of a Thomas Moore girl myself—and this village I've been watching is just full of life, and love for that matter."  
"Now my girl," began the Archangel, in his most authorative tone, "it's hardly appropriate for an angel to have an interest in amorous affairs."  
"Oh, it's nothing vulgar; actually it's very romantic."  
"I'm sure…"  
"Ah, get off yer pedestal, will ya, and look down there. See that cosy wee pub there, with the blue door? Well, the landlady there's a real firecracker—gorgeous, too—and her life's been pretty interesting lately. She's falling in love…with the new priest."  
The Archangel's eyes widened, and he puffed himself up a little.  
"Why, she ought to be—"  
"Hold yer horses, man. It's not as though she chose to, I don't think she even knows it, yet. But your man, the curate—he's developing feelings for her as well."  
"Well," said Gabriel, "that's a predicament. They'll just have to get over it, I suppose."  
"You'd think so…And I can't see how else it'll work out…But they're such a strong couple. Look now; he's just sat his driver's license test, they had a big row over it—'priest perks' and all. But in the end he took the test without his collar on, surprised her, and impressed her too, though she's not the type to admit it. And see them there, in her pub…you can't deny that warmth between them."

"Hmm," said Gabriel, and floated away. But he couldn't quite resist a glance over his shoulder.

* * *

About a week had passed, when the Irish angel was disturbed from her viewing by the nearby fluttering of wings. She looked up to find the Archangel floating in her direction, with an exaggeratedly casual air.

"Still watching those mortals, are you?" he asked, a note of derision in his voice. The angel was slightly confused then, when her superior made no move to leave, but hovered, gazing over her shoulder. When she turned with a questioning glance, the Archangel mumbled defensively, "I thought I should screen the content, you know, censorship. Have to make sure our angels watch the right sort of things."  
"Of course," the subordinate replied, with a smug little grin.

Below, through layers of cloud, a contest was visible on the main street. It was decked out in banners, a big crowd was gathered, all cheering.  
"They're having a publicans' race," the angel explained, "whoever wins makes a substantial profit. I can't imagine anyone could be rooting for anyone but Assumpta, she's—"  
"Yes, yes, fascinating," interrupted Gabriel disinterestedly, but he still peered closer for a better view. When the beautiful young woman faltered, almost dropping her tray of stout, both angels gasped, and under the knowing smile of his inferior, the Archangel muttered,  
"Well, the other fellow's a bit of a tosser."  
"Oh, Brian's not so bad, once you get to know him. But he's got nothing on Assumpta for tenacity…or looks, for that matter."

When she won the race, both of the heavenly viewers smiled to themselves, feeling as though justice had been served. Gabriel was a little shocked to find that the priest had gone so far as to cheat, sticking down the glasses, but couldn't resist a chuckle at Brian's reaction. And later, when the landlady joined him outside, the Archangel even felt a little moved by her act of organising the petition. All that unspoken feeling, in just a glance!

"Told you it was romantic," muttered the Irish angel, and Gabriel attempted to make light of his affected state. As Assumpta stood up and walked silently across the road, he rose up and made to leave.  
"Same time, same place next week, then?" smiled the angel, over her shoulder.  
"If I've nothing better to do," was the nonchalant reply.

* * *

"Hurry up, you're late!"  
"What did I miss?" puffed the Archangel, "there was a terrible hang up at the Gates, couldn't get away in time."  
"The town was having a 'Slave Auction', for charity and all. She bought him; and did he look mighty pleased with himself for it! But even better, they've been cast in a play, as each other's romantic interest. The play itself's about forbidden love, a priest and his lover!"  
"Ironic."  
"I'd say! See, they're rehearsing now. Ooh, it's the love scene!"

Down in the town hall, Assumpta crossed the stage, forcing Peter (well, supposedly 'Matthew') to face her.  
"If it's a sin, there'll be no repeating it…"  
One hand to his face, their rather wooden acting disappeared, and for a moment the tension was palpable, but then she pulled away.  
"Arghh!" both angels issued a groan of disappointment. Even orthodox Gabriel couldn't deny the passion growing between the pair.

"They at least deserve an onstage-kiss," sighed the Irish angel, when another close moment was interrupted by the arrival of Father Mac, two parish priests and a bishop.  
"Oh, perhaps it's better that they didn't kiss; once they started, they might not be able to stop. And from there on all hell must break loose."  
"But wouldn't you like to see them get together? I think they deserve it."  
"Of course they do, but…it just couldn't work."

* * *

"What in heaven's name is the matter?" cried Gabriel, arriving in the Irish skies to find his companion blanched, with fists clenched in anger.

"She's gone and…I still can't believe it…she's gone and married that McGarvey eejit, Leo!"  
"What?!" even Gabriel was taken aback. "How could she do that to us?!...I mean, to Peter…What fools these mortals be!"  
"Ah, well, I think she's just decided to move on, given up on the forbidden fruit. But you can tell she doesn't love her husband. Poor girl…Anyway, you should be happy; you're the one who decided it couldn't work out between them."  
Gabriel looked uncomfortable for a moment, then rallied. "Well, of course it couldn't. I'm not saying she should have made a hasty move like that, but…Well, for one thing, if they ever got it together, there'd be no more tension, and the story would be over."

The Irish angel threw up her hands in exasperation. "N…No more tension?! You're obviously unfamiliar with married life…"  
"And at any rate, it's tradition; lovers are nearly always doomed in Celtic legend. And it makes the story more powerful."  
"That's hardly a reason to keep them apart. I thought we angels were supposed to be kind and compassionate, and you'd keep them apart just for your own entertainment! Some moral authority you are!"

Gabriel was rather taken aback by this outburst, and floated hurriedly away, his perfect nose in the air. But he couldn't help a regretful glance back at the aching, star-crossed lovers in the village below.

* * *

The Irish angel was glad not see her superior for the next few weeks—heartless tosspot. But though she felt their pain keenly, she couldn't stop watching the priest and the publican…she cared for them too much, by now. It was ridiculous really, for a celestial being to get so caught up in the lives of mere mortals, from another realm…but they were so strong, and beautiful, and alive.

Then, one afternoon, a scene in Niamh's kitchen almost stunned the wings off her. Finally, their longing was out in the open! But when she pushed him away, in tears, the angel feared that Gabriel might have been right; perhaps it could never work.

Gabriel was leaning against the Pearly Gates, tapping his foot, and failing miserably to hide his distinctly sulky mood. It was ridiculous—there were so many other parts of the world, so many other stories—but he couldn't seem to get the folks of that town out of his head. It was reaching the point of getting unbearable. Chewing his lip in thought, the Archangel turned to the directory, and rang the bell for Saint Francis de Sales; patron saint of journalists, and keeper of the books.

"Oh, hello there Gabriel. What can I do for you, old chap?"  
"Well, I have a favour to ask, actually. I know this goes against protocol somewhat, but I was wondering if perhaps you might let me have a browse through your files."  
The Saint raised an eyebrow. "What are you looking for?"  
"Oh, just some information on certain mortals alive at present. Let's just say I have an interest."  
"Are you wanting their detailed biographies, then?"  
"Actually," the Archangel bit his lip, "I was hoping for a peek at the Book of Fate…"  
Francis gaped. "But…you're not allowed. Only in cases of high emergency is anyone, even the Archangel, excused in—"  
"Well, this _is_ a case of high emergency. I suspect that at least two hearts, possibly many more, are at risk of being broken."  
"Why, that happens every day, Gabriel."  
"Sadly, yes. But sometimes, when a love is so strong that it might even bear the cliché of _true_ love—when two people are meant to be together, sometimes a force from above is required to make sure they're not kept apart. And do you really want to be held responsible for the greatest love tragedy of the twentieth century? I'm sure you remember how everyone _still_ treats the chap who wouldn't interfere for Tristan and Iseult…"

Saint Francis deflated a little, and reluctantly handed over the ring of keys at his waist. "I hope you find what you're looking for," he muttered.

* * *

The Irish angel hovered above Ballykissangel, on shaky wings. She could barely believe her all-seeing eyes.

"I love you."  
"Would you take that thing off before you say things like that?"

The angel was grinning, but chewed her nails in agitation.  
"Argh, won't the others just bog off so he can kiss her already?!"

Her moment was interrupted when the Archangel appeared at his side. She sobered instantly, turning away a little. After a moment, she was confused and irritated to find Gabriel looking decidedly pleased with himself.  
"What are you smiling at? I thought you'd be sour, seeing yourself proved wrong."  
"Oh," sighed the Archangel contentedly, "I wouldn't call this a defeat."

The lights in Fitzgerald's flickered, and died.  
"I'll go," offered Padraig, but the self-sufficient barmaid shook her head.  
"No, stay."

As Assumpta descended into the cellar, the Irish angel fidgeted.  
"And they'd just been having such a lovely moment…"  
Gabriel was restless too, but in a different way. However, when the lights went came on again, and the landlady came back up the stairs to cheerful applause from the regulars, he heaved a sigh of immense relief.  
"What was that for?" asked his subordinate.  
"Oh, I'm just amazed at how much a little rewrite can do. Sometimes, an eraser comes in mighty useful, let me tell you."  
"Daft old codger," muttered the younger angel, turning back to smile down at the warmly-lit pub.

* * *

Assumpta Fitzgerald was humming to herself as she cleaned up—a phenomenon practically unheard of. But then, she'd never had so good a reason to be cheerful before. Just as she wiped down the sink and tossed aside the damp cloth, the sound of the door clicking open caused something inside her to leap, and a smile to curve her mouth.

"Shop!" came the teasing voice, a smile in his tone. With a valiant attempt at a straight face, Assumpta leant in the kitchen doorway.  
"Can't you see we're closed?"  
"I thought you might make an exception."  
She scoffed. "D'ya think I like you, or something?"  
"I like to think so," smiled Peter, stepping towards her, and when she backed into the kitchen, he followed her, and shut the door behind them.

"How was your day?" he asked, leaning on the table as Assumpta surveyed the kitchen for any unfinished chores. She was torn between a desperate need to distract herself, and the longing to meet his gaze. He had left last night, after the food fair, without kissing her, and she was afraid that if she looked at him he'd see the longing in her eyes. She knew she shouldn't rush him.  
"Oh, you know…Long."  
Peter nodded, with a smile. "Yes, days seem even longer, now."

With nothing to keep her occupied, Assumpta turned to face him, and smiled in agreement. Under his gaze, she felt her heartbeat speed up. Peter stepped closer, reaching out to take her by the shoulders, caressing her arms in a way that was at once comforting and exhilarating.  
"Is there anything I can do, to make it easier for you?"  
Usually she would have spouted some smart quip, but she was touched by his earnest concern, so just smiled, shaking her head.  
"We never said this would be easy; and things'll get more complicated before they get better. But I don't mind."

Assumpta was gazing up at him, her hands resting on his chest, and her eyes so full of warmth that it took his breath away. And then quite suddenly she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Peter was pleasantly surprised by this spontaneous embrace, and held her even closer. The warmth of her body up against his, the delicious scent of her hair…He still could hardly believe it, that after so much tortuous longing, he could finally hold her in his arms like this. It was a miracle, really—there must have been some divine intervention.  
Peter ducked his head, to murmur by her ear, "I've missed you too. All day."

Her soft chuckle was muffled by his shoulder, and she slowly lifted her head. Her eyes radiated warmth, contentment and hunger all at once, and the man swallowed hard. Then Assumpta kissed him. She slid one hand up to the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair. There was something in the way she pressed closer, in the intensity of that slow kiss that said more than words could have; she loved him. Breaking the kiss, she lingered for a moment, then drew back and opened her eyes.

If she was warm already, the expression on Peter's face only kindled the glow inside her. He looked astounded, as though he didn't know whether to whoop or cry or kiss her again. Finally he took her face in his hands, and leaned his forehead against her own.  
She murmured, "Do you have any idea how much I've wanted to do that?"  
"Do _you_ have any idea how much I love you?"  
Assumpta glowed, and was about to lean in again when a yawn overcame her.

"Uh oh," the man laughed, "you've been worked to exhaustion. Looks like it's bedtime for Miss Fitzgerald."  
"Noo," she protested, reverting to a childlike tone as she clung to her lover, "you've only been here a minute, and I've been missing you all day."  
Peter grinned, flattered and thrilled. "Hey, it's not as though I'm keen to leave you. But you've got to look after yourself," he murmured, rubbing her back.  
Assumpta chewed her lip, and gazed up at him with a tentative expression. "Well, how about…you stay with me tonight…?"

Peter blushed, and stammered, "Assumpta, I—"  
The woman shook her head, chuckling slightly. "I don't mean…_that_…I know we shouldn't rush things, and you've still got your faith after all. But, do you think—would you be comfortable, just holding me tonight? I doubt I'll sleep a wink without you."_  
And I doubt I'll sleep a wink with you_, Peter thought, but he couldn't resist those eyes. He sighed, and allowed a smile to curve his mouth.  
"Is moral blackmail in season in this town, or what?"  
Assumpta laughed, and kissed him on the cheek. "Ahh, you're so obliging."  
"Yes, I hope you appreciate the immense sacrifice."  
She smirked, withdrawing reluctantly from their embrace. "I'll just get into my pyjamas. Come up in a few minutes."

Peter tried to ignore the fact that his hand shook a little as he knocked on her bedroom door.  
"Come in."  
He turned the handle, and entered. The room was dark, and his eyes were yet to adjust, but Assumpta was obviously already in bed. He made his way across the room and sat down to remove his shoes.  
"Peter…" she began, perhaps trying to fill the electric silence.  
"Yeah?"  
"I love you."  
For a moment, Peter Clifford forgot how to untie his shoelaces. In the dark, she couldn't see his face, but his eyes sparkled. Then he finished removing his shoes and socks, and climbed under the covers. There was a moment of adjustment, as he reached out to wrap a tentative arm around her, and Assumpta snuggled closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I knew you'd make a good pillow," she murmured, her voice already thick with sleep, and Peter chuckled.  
"Glad I can be of service."  
A contented silence fell between them, and Peter took the moment to appreciate the intimacy of it. He could feel the soft warmth of her through the pyjamas, her gentle breathing…And being in her room, her bed; his senses were receiving a full onslaught of Assumpta, and it was blissful.

"What are you thinking?" she murmured by his shoulder.  
Peter smiled at the ceiling, stroking her dark hair. "Oh…many things. Most of which pertain to how unexpectedly wonderful life can be." He felt her smile against his shirt. "What are _you_ thinking?"  
"I'm thinking," she murmured, pressing closer to nuzzle his neck in a way that made him swallow hard, "that I need to find out what aftershave you use, and get you some more of it."

"Anyway, I thought the purpose of this exercise was to go to sleep."  
"Ahh, the pious one," she scoffed gently, and snuggled down. But she had barely been silent for a minute when she murmured, "Peter…?"  
"Yes."  
"Does the Church claim that heaven is nicer than this?"  
The ex-priest raised an eyebrow in thought, considering the delicious warm comfort of their embrace. "Well…yes, I suppose so."  
Her voice sleepy, Assumpta replied in a child's matter-of-fact tone, "I don't believe them," and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.  
Peter smiled and hugged her closer, letting his eyes drift closed.

* * *

In the clouds above Ballykissangel, two angels were smiling down on the pub.

"Well," smiled Gabriel contentedly, "I guess there'll be a bit less drama from now on."  
"I wouldn't count on it," replied the younger angel, still smiling dreamily, "that Niamh tends to make her husband's life quite interesting. And if we're looking for amusement, there's always Quigley, not to mention Donal and Liam."  
"You're right," admitted the Archangel, readjusting his halo. "And besides, I'm not totally averse to happy endings; where the couples deserve it."  
"Oh, this isn't a happy ending; it's not an end!" she corrected him, with a grin.  
"No, I think Ballykissangel will keep us smiling for quite some time to come."

**THE END**


End file.
